it’s half past noon, and you’re still in bed.
everything aches, and you can see the thin lines of sunlight around the blinds of your window. it’s too bright, even with your eyes closed. you roll over.
your joints crack, and your muscles tighten, and you should get up, but you don’t. your alarm went off hours ago, but you don’t remember turning it off.
you should get up. you have emails to answer, errands to run, applications to send, phone calls to return, people to talk to, places to go, a life to live.
that life does not feel like yours right now. it feels distant, far away, somewhere in the future, somewhere in the past. out of reach.
you look at the ceiling, at where the lights would be glowing if you had the energy to turn them on.
you wonder if you are your own shadow. aimless, temporary.
there is an unopened bag of spinach in the fridge. the use by date was three days ago, but you haven’t thrown it away.
you should clean your bathroom sink, and you should put away the dishes. you should sweep, and change your bedsheets. you pretend to be asleep.
you wonder where you would be if you were anywhere
but here.
maybe at the grocery store down the street, inspecting the pomegranates and wondering why they’re all so pale. meandering, looking for chilli oil and cinnamon. looking at the ice cream flavours and thinking about the empty space in the freezer.
maybe at your parents’ house, doing exactly what you’re doing now, hiding away from the rest of the world, hiding away from yourself, but with the sound of them living their lives downstairs.
maybe on holiday, somewhere bright and sunny, somewhere beautiful.
when you close your eyes, you can pretend you are anywhere, but you find that you can’t decide where you want to be. you kind of want to be right here, right where you are, but you want it in a different way than you have it.
your mouth tastes like smog, and you consider getting up to use mouthwash, but you dismiss the thought. the idea of sitting up is exhausting, so you don’t. you use what little energy you do have to roll over again, to twist your back until it relaxes, to bury your face in your pillow and groan. nobody hears it. you yourself barely hear it.
your window is closed, but you can hear the world passing by outside. a child screams and then laughs. some teenagers walk down the sidewalk, their voices overlapping until they’re unintelligible. a bus drives by, slowing to a stop at the light before it continues on its way. a car follows behind, the windows down to let the world hear the driver’s music. you don’t recognise the song. a bird sings to the sky, and an ambulance sings in response. somebody is having a worse day than you.
you can’t tell if your eyes are open or not. you forget for a moment that you have a body, that you have a face, and you are fleetingly, blissfully numb. the feeling subsides, and you wait somewhat patiently for it to return. you wonder if you might fade from here, if you might melt into a puddle of spilled water, if you might leave the glass you came from half-empty. you might seep into your blankets, into your mattress, and you might evaporate into more nothing than you already are, and you will leave behind nothing but the vague shape of a human, a macabre self-portrait in your bed. the empty space left behind will pulse— it will have your heartbeat.
you should take your garbage out. your room probably smells, but you wouldn’t know, already used to the stagnant air. you should open your window. the fresh air and the smell of exhaust and cigarette smoke will make you feel better. you should get groceries and do your laundry. you’ve been wearing the same shirt for three days now. it passed its use by date at the same time as the wilted spinach in the fridge. you should text your friends and tell them that you’re alive. you should text your parents and tell them that you’re fine. you can feel your pulse when you shift your weight, and it’s steady, but it’s too fast. you should go to the gym, or at least go on a walk. you don’t even know if it’s raining today or not. you don’t even have proper shoes to wear to the gym, and you don’t have the money to get any.
you would feel better if you took a shower, if you washed the grease from your hair and the grime from your skin and put on some nice lotion and fresh clothes, if you drank some water or maybe made some tea, if you got groceries or even takeaway, if you changed the bedsheets and washed your favourite blanket, if you swept and dusted, if you opened the window, if you texted your friends and checked your emails. if you knew if it was raining, cloudy, or sunny. if you knew what day of the week it was.
you pretend to be asleep, and you wait to evaporate.